Dear Chris

Dear Chris,

Being the devout Episcopalian that I am, I went to my parish's Sunday morning worship service. Confession: I was tired, and I did not want to go. But I muddled through all the routine motions of showering and dressing and primping, and off I went. I dutifully rehearsed with the choir, vested, and took my place in the processional line. Our choir master (you would love singing under her, by the way) finished her prelude and sounded the first chords of the processional hymn -- "All Hail the Power of Jesus' Name." Soon I was seated and following along in my bulletin.

These are the things that stood out to me:

The first reading was from 2 Samuel 23: "These are the last words of David..." 

Then the psalm -- Psalm 132: "Lord, remember David, and all the hardships he endured...Let us go to God's dwelling place; let us fall upon our knees before his footstool..."

And then the second reading from Revelation 1: "Grace to you and peace from him who was and who is to come...Look! He is coming with the clouds; every eye will see him..."

The Gospel reading, John 18: "My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here."

The anthem -- "The Last Words of David" -- "And he shall be as the light of the morning, when the sun riseth..."

The communion anthem -- "E'en so, Lord Jesus, Quickly Come" -- "Rejoice in heaven all ye that dwell therein. Rejoice on earth, ye saints below. For Christ is coming, is coming soon. E'en so, Lord Jesus, quickly come, and night shall be no more. They need no light nor lamp nor sun, for Christ will be their All!"



"Last words...all the hardships he endured...coming with the clouds...not from this world...he shall be as light of the morning...night shall be no more..."

Chris, all these words, both spoken and sung, reminded me of you. I knew your time here with us was running out -- we all knew that.

From my place in the chancel area, I could see the whole length of the nave.
I kept looking up, I don't know why. And I noticed the ceiling. And I remembered that the ceiling's architecture is meant to look like the inside of the hull of a ship. I felt like I was in a capsized boat. I even had a small panic attack! But I breathed and prayed, and soon I recovered. I thought about you. I wondered if you had been feeling this way lately, feeling like you were in a boat you couldn't escape, and feeling scared from being tossed around by life's stormy seas. I wanted to comfort you. I wanted to calm the waters for you. I wanted to find a life jacket for you.







And you sailed from this world the very next morning.







Like I said, we all knew it was coming, and I know you knew that too...but still. Your Aunt Judy looked around and said, "He's not suffering anymore." Those words gave me solace. Donnie, Laura, Aunt Judy, Roy and I mourned over losing you. We made calls. We sent messages. Larry, Laurie, Tracey and Eva came. Dave would have been there if he hadn't had to be at work. We all comforted each other. The nurses, doctors, counselor, chaplain -- they were all as wonderful and sweet as ever.

After Laura and Aunt Judy (yes, I really DO call her "Aunt Judy" as if she's my own aunt -- I just love her) left, the rest of us weren't quite ready to part just yet. We all went to Sweet Tea and had lunch together -- Lisa joined us there as well. We talked about you; we talked about the plans for your ashes; we lifted our glasses of tea and Coke while Donnie made a toast to you -- he was sweet; we talked amongst ourselves (I sat across from Roy and I'm going to send him a recipe for some icing he's never made!). I marveled at all the new friends I now have from having you in common with them.



And I wish you were here...



Above, I said we all mourned. And we did. But you know how I am, Chris.
I have to do things my own way, in my own time. I did not cry that day -- not when Donnie called me at 2:00 AM, not as you were dying, not when you
died -- I never shed a tear. I think my subconscious went into what I now refer to as "Rock Mode." I felt I had to be strong for Donnie and Laura and Aunt Judy and all the rest. I didn't even have to choke tears back -- there were none to contend with. Was I sad? Yes. Would I rather have you here, whole and well and free from the bonds of liver disease? Gosh, yes! But I did not cry. Not then.

On Tuesday, I kind of dragged around. I was tired. I was worried about Donnie. Then when Nicholas got home from school he said something -- nothing major -- but it SET ME OFF -- and I flipped out at both boys. Then Mark called while he was on his way home. I told him I was tired and sluggish; that my depression, despite my best efforts, was getting the better of me that day. I told him I was too tired to cook and clean, and we agreed on Chinese take-out.

And then...I cried. And Mark said, "Are you OK?" And I told him,
"I haven't cried yet. This is the first time I've let myself cry." So there it was.
It was done, and I've had an easier go of things today.





I miss you, though.




Monday night, I sat down and reflected on the day. I had just put the boys down for the evening -- they'd had their baths, their jammies were on, they were all snuggled up and falling asleep in their bunk beds. Mark was not home yet because of night school. I have come to love (and covet) the nine o'clock hour on Monday nights, Chris! Sweet solitude, if only for a short while. I sat down and realized how tired I was. I had been awake nineteen hours, and you had taken your last breath thirteen hours ago. I thought about what you said when I visited you on Saturday (Iron Bowl day). You told me twice that you wanted me to be your mama. That whenever I visited I came in and took care of you. That you knew I was a good mom. And I thought about my sleeping boys, and how I love putting them to bed and making them feel cozy and loved. I wished I could do that for you. Since I couldn't, I wrote a little thing on my Facebook wall:

What a long and exhausting day it's been. But I was able to be by my friend's side, and I would not have been anywhere else. Now I'm enjoying the quiet solitude...boys have been bathed, read to, sung to. I love the end of day parenting, when the kids are clean and smelling good and sleepy. Chris told me two days ago that he wanted me to be his mama -- he really said that. Now he too is clean and comfortable, and I hope he feels the tucked-in love that my sons feel. All is merry and bright. Rest in peace, Chris, you sweet, sweet boy.

I hope you like it. I hope you know I mean it. And I hope the part about you being all clean and comfortable and tucked in is true. Watch over me and all of us that will always love and miss you. Pray for us. Pray for my boys and for your little niece that will be with us in the spring. Pray for all us mamas. Pray for your Birmingham friends and your Marshall County friends and family. Go find your place in the choir, and when you see me coming, I hope you will have saved me a seat.

Love,
Melanie